He was gradually growing accustomed to the place’s eccentricities. The hand-painted sandwich sign that stood near the beauty shop’s front door, for instance:
GOT A CHEATING SPOUSE OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER?
DON’T GET MAD, GET EVEN.
CALL THE DOMESTIC EQUALIZERS.
555-1212
Harley Carruthers had told him the two women who owned the salon called themselves detectives and had actually solved the mystery of his former wife’s murder. That piece of information had left Nick stunned. He had never known anybody associated with so violent a crime. That it had occurred in a desert burg like Salt Lick was incredible enough, but to learn the victim had been the wife of one of the nicest guys Nick had ever met as well as one of the richest fell into the realm of pure fiction.
Salt Lick appeared to be the epitome of an all-American small town. Not quite the Norman Rockwell type, but still as wholesome and clean as a desert town with a shortage of water could be.
Walking into the salon, the first thing he noticed was the far corner and what looked something like a cramped jail cell, except that it was made of new two-by-twos. It housed a mini-jungle.
A parrot sat perched on a round bar that spanned the width of the structure. This must be the bird the weepy redhead had told him about. He walked over to what could only be called a cage. Other than having the basic look of a parrot, the bird didn’t look like anything special. Gray and white and a couple of red tail feathers. Typical parrot’s head and thick beak.
“Mr. GQ Cowboy,” the bird squawked and ruffled its feathers. “What an asshole.”
Nick frowned. He had heard that bird before. Did the damn thing recognize him? “Did he say what I think he said?”
“He did,” the younger hairdresser said.
That would be Debbie Sue Overstreet. She was a good-looking woman who appeared to be close to his age. Her husband, a Texas Ranger captain, was a local legend, but Nick had never met him. The locals rarely saw him. He was usually down at the Mexican border chasing drug traffickers and people smugglers.
Debbie Sue walked up beside him. “That’s Jake. He’s got a potty mouth, but we’re trying to re-train him.”
“Oh, yeah? Good luck with that. I can’t imagine how you would go about training a bird in the first place, much less re-training one.”
He stared into the cage at a snarl of branches and perches, obviously put together with skill and care. “Who built the fancy cage?”
“My husband,” the tall skinny one said. She, too, crossed the room to look into the cage at the parrot.
That would be Edwina, the redhead’s aunt. She had a few years on Debbie Sue. Nick guessed her to be around forty-five. Harley had told him about her husband too, but Nick had never met him either. He was eager to meet a true military hero.
He turned and faced the two women. “I need a haircut.”
“You’ve come to the right place, cowboy,” the aunt said. “You’re the general manager out at the Flying C, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Nick put out his right hand. “Nick Conway. And you are?”
She took his hand. “Edwina Perkins-Martin, at your service. You’re the guy my niece met on the highway a couple of weeks ago, aren’t you? The day she brought Jake down here.” She tipped her head toward the cage.
Nick’s memory spun backward two weeks. How could he forget seeing any woman wearing a dress and sandals trying to shoo a cow and her calf off the highway, especially if the woman was a gorgeous redhead?
Debbie Sue laughed. “The one Jake calls an asshole.” She, too, put out her right hand. “I’m Debbie Sue Overstreet.”
Not knowing if Sandi had revealed she’d had supper with him the day she brought the parrot down, he chose not to mention it. “I remember running into her. So she just up and left her parrot with you.”
“Oh, it isn’t her parrot any longer,” Edwina said. “My husband would take a machete to somebody who tried to take that bird away from him. Me, on the other hand, I might take a machete to the bird. He craps on everything in sight.”
Nick laughed. “That’s a bird for you. Keeping one this size penned up indoors would create a lot of work for somebody.”
“In spite of what Ed says about him, everyone loves him,” Debbie Sue said. “Her husband is taking him to the football game tonight. He used to live in a sports bar, so he’s a football fan.”
Ah, yes. High school football and Friday nights. Legendary in Texas. “Who, the parrot? Or her husband?” Nick followed up with a chuckle.
Debbie Sue ducked her chin and gave him a deadpan look. “The parrot. Ed’s husband couldn’t care less about a football game.”
Nick made another quick stroll down memory lane. He had played football from eighth grade forward until he graduated from college. He had been blessed with the smarts and leadership skills as well as the physical size, strength and coordination to win a full-ride scholarship and play quarterback. He thanked his Maker every day. Being able to hold his own among the best of them had bought him an education at Texas Tech University and an opportunity to escape the debilitating poverty into which he had been born.
“I haven’t yet made it to a Salt Lick Steers game,” he said. “I’m not familiar with six-man football’s rules.”
“Jake loves football. Ed’s husband has been teaching him some of the cheers the cheerleaders do. He’s going to take him down to the sidelines and the girls are going to do cheers with him.”
“Awrrk,” Jake piped. “Go Steers. Get that sonofabitch! Break his fuckin’ leg!”
“Ain’t that a hoot?” Edwina said. “So, cowboy, are we gonna cut your hair today or play with the bird?”
“What the fuck? What
